| General Fiction posted February 7, 2010 |
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A celebration with a difference
Happy Birthday Bobby
by fionageorge
Today is my eighteenth birthday. Was it only two hours ago I blew out the candles? I look at the gun and cartridges lying on the small table. I have my coat on, ready to leave this prison. I’m still shaking, and take a sip of the cheap wine Pa had bought for this ‘occasion’.
As I wait for Peter to return, my mind goes back over the events of the last couple of hours.
My birthday wasn’t a big affair; nothing in my life ever was. Pa had been annoyed when Ma gave birth to a daughter; he always treated me like a boy. He made Ma dress me like a boy; even calling me Bobby.
He’d been a bully ever since I could remember. He and Ma married after she became pregnant, and he constantly reminded her he’d done her a favour by getting married. Everyone was afraid of him, including Ma and me. Ma timid and abused, had come to accept her lot in life.
I didn’t know any different. I was made to work on the farm and had to wear the overalls and gumboots they bought. Ma cut my dark wavy hair as short as a boy’s and I was home tutored by her, although this was limited. Pa made me to do my share around the farm from the day I turned five. I was one of the boys. I’d never worn a dress or make-up, and the only friends I ever knew were our farmhands. But they usually moved on quickly, not liking the way Pa treated them.
The farmhands joined us in the shearing shed to have a piece of my birthday cake. Ma lit the eighteen candles, and they sang a rowdy rendition of happy birthday. Pa made a short speech about his best farmhand and that I was good stock because of him.
“Happy birthday, Bobby,” Peter, one of the hands, said softly as he put his arms around me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
I blushed; I’d never been hugged or kissed by a boy before. I looked up at him, and noticed he had deep blue eyes. He put a small pink parcel in my hand. I felt awkward; it was the first gift I’d ever received. I opened it tentatively, and found a red velvet box which held a dainty gold necklace.
As I went to say thank you to Peter, Pa started laughing. “What the bloody hell d’ya think she’s gonna do wif that?” he roared, “She ain’t got no use for pretty fings.”
“I like it, Pa,” I said shyly.
“Don’t ya go gittin’ any ideas ’bout her, matey. She ain't gonna get all girlie like, she’s a farmhand. There’ll be no molly coddlin’ her, ya hear?” He wasn’t laughing now.
“No offence, boss, but she’s a girl, and a pretty one at that,” Peter said in a no-nonsense voice. “I’d like to take her out to dinner.”
Before Pa had a chance to respond, Peter turned back to me, “Bobby, will you have dinner with me Saturday?”
“Hold y’r horses, matey. She ain’t goin’ no-bloody-where!” Pa boomed. Nobody ever spoke back to him; he was the boss, period!
“Boss, Bobby’s entitled to have a social life. She’s eighteen, old enough to make up her own mind.”
Pa’s face turned bright red. “Git out! Ya cheeky bastard! Ya’re fired! Git off me property! How dare ya speak to me like that!”
“Pa, Peter’s right, I’m eighteen, and I can do what I want.” I turned to Peter, “I’d love to go to dinner.” This was the first time I’d ever stood up to Pa, and it felt good.
“Git outta here, NOW!” His eyes bulged as he dug his finger into Peter’s chest.
“You owe me two weeks wages. Pay me, and I’ll leave.” Peter stood his ground.
Pa stomped out of the shed, and came back in a matter of seconds with his money sock. He’d always kept cash in a sock in his bedroom drawer. He threw some at Peter.
“Before I go, I suggest you also start paying Bobby. You treat her like a slave. I bet you’ve never paid her a cent in her life.”
“He’s right, Pa. Why have you never paid me? You say I’m your best hand, yet you’ve never seen fit to pay me.”
“Why, you ungrateful little b--” Pa lifted his hand, but Peter caught it, twisting it around his back.
The other men froze, too scared to move.
“Pa, if Peter goes, I go. And he’s right, you owe me. You can give me the rest of the money in your sock.”
“See what ya’ve done? Made me own daughter go against me!” Pa spluttered.
I snatched the sock from Pa’s hand and ran out of the shed. Once in my bedroom I emptied the sock - over a thousand dollars, that should do me for a while. I really had no idea about money. Pa and Ma had provided me with board and lodgings, bought my clothes and Ma cooked all my meals.
I threw my few belongings into some plastic bags, and put the money into my jacket pocket.
I went outside, saw Peter’s ute, and threw my bags into the back. I ran back into the shed and saw the other hands and Ma staring at something with terror on their faces. I turned around to see Pa pointing his gun at Peter’s head. “Pa, don’t you dare! Put that gun down!” I screamed. He spun around; at the same time Peter grabbed Pa’s hand and pushed it backward. The gun dropped to the floor. I picked it up and pointed it at Pa.
“Give me the gun, Bobby, and ring the cops,” Peter said. “I’ll keep him here.”
I handed Peter the gun, and ran inside. I called ‘000’, and by the time I got back to the shed I heard sirens approaching.
Pa was carted off in a paddy-wagon, and after being questioned the farmhands all left the shed, leaving just Ma and Peter and me.
“Bobby, why don’t you come with me?” Peter asked, “There are lots of farmers out there who’d love to give you a job, and pay you.”
I looked at Ma, and asked her if she’d join us.
“I’m going to my hut to pack my things, you two sort out what you’re going to do. I’ll be back in ten,” Peter said.
When he’d left, Ma looked at me with sad eyes, then put her arms around me for the first time in many years. “No, Bobby, I can’t leave your Pa. I need to look after the farm until he comes home.”
“Ma, you don’t owe Pa anything.”
“Goodbye, Bobby. I hope you’ll be happy.” She walked away, shoulders stooped.
I’m sad for Ma, but she’s made her choice. I’m eighteen; I’m entitled to live my life.
Is my future with Peter? I don’t know. But today I freed myself of my shackles. I can face the world.
I am free, I am strong, I am a real woman.
Building Strong Characters X writing prompt entry
Today is my eighteenth birthday. Was it only two hours ago I blew out the candles? I look at the gun and cartridges lying on the small table. I have my coat on, ready to leave this prison. I’m still shaking, and take a sip of the cheap wine Pa had bought for this ‘occasion’.
As I wait for Peter to return, my mind goes back over the events of the last couple of hours.
My birthday wasn’t a big affair; nothing in my life ever was. Pa had been annoyed when Ma gave birth to a daughter; he always treated me like a boy. He made Ma dress me like a boy; even calling me Bobby.
He’d been a bully ever since I could remember. He and Ma married after she became pregnant, and he constantly reminded her he’d done her a favour by getting married. Everyone was afraid of him, including Ma and me. Ma timid and abused, had come to accept her lot in life.
I didn’t know any different. I was made to work on the farm and had to wear the overalls and gumboots they bought. Ma cut my dark wavy hair as short as a boy’s and I was home tutored by her, although this was limited. Pa made me to do my share around the farm from the day I turned five. I was one of the boys. I’d never worn a dress or make-up, and the only friends I ever knew were our farmhands. But they usually moved on quickly, not liking the way Pa treated them.
The farmhands joined us in the shearing shed to have a piece of my birthday cake. Ma lit the eighteen candles, and they sang a rowdy rendition of happy birthday. Pa made a short speech about his best farmhand and that I was good stock because of him.
“Happy birthday, Bobby,” Peter, one of the hands, said softly as he put his arms around me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
I blushed; I’d never been hugged or kissed by a boy before. I looked up at him, and noticed he had deep blue eyes. He put a small pink parcel in my hand. I felt awkward; it was the first gift I’d ever received. I opened it tentatively, and found a red velvet box which held a dainty gold necklace.
As I went to say thank you to Peter, Pa started laughing. “What the bloody hell d’ya think she’s gonna do wif that?” he roared, “She ain’t got no use for pretty fings.”
“I like it, Pa,” I said shyly.
“Don’t ya go gittin’ any ideas ’bout her, matey. She ain't gonna get all girlie like, she’s a farmhand. There’ll be no molly coddlin’ her, ya hear?” He wasn’t laughing now.
“No offence, boss, but she’s a girl, and a pretty one at that,” Peter said in a no-nonsense voice. “I’d like to take her out to dinner.”
Before Pa had a chance to respond, Peter turned back to me, “Bobby, will you have dinner with me Saturday?”
“Hold y’r horses, matey. She ain’t goin’ no-bloody-where!” Pa boomed. Nobody ever spoke back to him; he was the boss, period!
“Boss, Bobby’s entitled to have a social life. She’s eighteen, old enough to make up her own mind.”
Pa’s face turned bright red. “Git out! Ya cheeky bastard! Ya’re fired! Git off me property! How dare ya speak to me like that!”
“Pa, Peter’s right, I’m eighteen, and I can do what I want.” I turned to Peter, “I’d love to go to dinner.” This was the first time I’d ever stood up to Pa, and it felt good.
“Git outta here, NOW!” His eyes bulged as he dug his finger into Peter’s chest.
“You owe me two weeks wages. Pay me, and I’ll leave.” Peter stood his ground.
Pa stomped out of the shed, and came back in a matter of seconds with his money sock. He’d always kept cash in a sock in his bedroom drawer. He threw some at Peter.
“Before I go, I suggest you also start paying Bobby. You treat her like a slave. I bet you’ve never paid her a cent in her life.”
“He’s right, Pa. Why have you never paid me? You say I’m your best hand, yet you’ve never seen fit to pay me.”
“Why, you ungrateful little b--” Pa lifted his hand, but Peter caught it, twisting it around his back.
The other men froze, too scared to move.
“Pa, if Peter goes, I go. And he’s right, you owe me. You can give me the rest of the money in your sock.”
“See what ya’ve done? Made me own daughter go against me!” Pa spluttered.
I snatched the sock from Pa’s hand and ran out of the shed. Once in my bedroom I emptied the sock - over a thousand dollars, that should do me for a while. I really had no idea about money. Pa and Ma had provided me with board and lodgings, bought my clothes and Ma cooked all my meals.
I threw my few belongings into some plastic bags, and put the money into my jacket pocket.
I went outside, saw Peter’s ute, and threw my bags into the back. I ran back into the shed and saw the other hands and Ma staring at something with terror on their faces. I turned around to see Pa pointing his gun at Peter’s head. “Pa, don’t you dare! Put that gun down!” I screamed. He spun around; at the same time Peter grabbed Pa’s hand and pushed it backward. The gun dropped to the floor. I picked it up and pointed it at Pa.
“Give me the gun, Bobby, and ring the cops,” Peter said. “I’ll keep him here.”
I handed Peter the gun, and ran inside. I called ‘000’, and by the time I got back to the shed I heard sirens approaching.
Pa was carted off in a paddy-wagon, and after being questioned the farmhands all left the shed, leaving just Ma and Peter and me.
“Bobby, why don’t you come with me?” Peter asked, “There are lots of farmers out there who’d love to give you a job, and pay you.”
I looked at Ma, and asked her if she’d join us.
“I’m going to my hut to pack my things, you two sort out what you’re going to do. I’ll be back in ten,” Peter said.
When he’d left, Ma looked at me with sad eyes, then put her arms around me for the first time in many years. “No, Bobby, I can’t leave your Pa. I need to look after the farm until he comes home.”
“Ma, you don’t owe Pa anything.”
“Goodbye, Bobby. I hope you’ll be happy.” She walked away, shoulders stooped.
I’m sad for Ma, but she’s made her choice. I’m eighteen; I’m entitled to live my life.
Is my future with Peter? I don’t know. But today I freed myself of my shackles. I can face the world.
I am free, I am strong, I am a real woman.
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Writing Prompt Write a short story or script with well-defined character(s), incorporating the provided artwork. Connect her to the reader. See announcement for details. |
 Recognized |
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1190 words.
Contest entry: max 1200 words.
Australian English.
Slang and incorrect spelling used in dialogue on purpose.
ute = utility. Australian vehicle, often used in the bush or by tradies. Front of vehicle like a sedan, back like a trailer. Could be considered a small truck.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Contest entry: max 1200 words.
Australian English.
Slang and incorrect spelling used in dialogue on purpose.
ute = utility. Australian vehicle, often used in the bush or by tradies. Front of vehicle like a sedan, back like a trailer. Could be considered a small truck.
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